RAB: A Tragic Hero
by SarahBear1214
Summary: Years after the Second Wizarding War, Harry returns once more to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, where he finds a small diary. What follows is a glimpse into the mind of Regulus Arcturus Black as he struggles with morality and bravery among the greatest evil of his time, and eventually faces his death in the ultimate act of courage and sacrifice.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is basically just a collection of journal entries written by Regulus Black between the time he joins the Death Eaters up until his death, cause Regulus is a seriously epic and under-appreciated character. I mean, he defied Voldemort, with just a house elf, at age 18. He is a badass. But I also feel like he would have had a pretty horrible psychologically damaging time. So I wrote this. Each chapter will be a journal entry, except the first chapter which has the introduction. Not really a story, just brief diary entries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. If I did, there would be an entire published series just about RAB. Instead I wrote this.

...

It had been three years since Harry last set foot in Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Really, he could hardly stand to be in the place. The moment he crossed the threshold, he felt the weight of long past memories crush down upon him from all sides. He remembered the spiteful glares of the ancient Black family portraits, the unsettling display of house elf heads upon the wall, the shrill, violent screams of Mrs. Black as she rained curses upon the filth and disgrace that was occupying her house. He remembered the wicked excitement and reckless longing of his godfather, the hectic bustle of Mrs. Weasley's intense cleaning regiment, and the nasty murmurs of Kreacher the house elf. He could recall clear as day the time Ol' Mad Eye had given him that aged photograph of the original order, as well as feel the ache that had pained him at the sight. More than anything, he remembered how horribly empty the old place seemed when Sirius was no longer there.

Harry only returned now at the insistence of Kreacher. Despite everything, Harry had actually formed rather a soft spot for the old elf, malicious bloke that he was. Kreacher had been so upset, so insistent that Harry retrieve his precious Mistress's old hairbrush—a Black family heirloom, he moaned, passed down for centuries, yadda yadda yadda. Apparently it was kept in a box, magically sealed to only open to the head of Grimmauld Place. Harry seriously doubted Mrs. Black would have specified those qualifications if she knew who her house would eventually belong to.

Harry walked slowly up the creaking stairs, the insidious eeriness of the house seeming to chill his very bones. He passed first by Sirius's old room, then Regulus's, and then finally reached the grand, intricate door leading into Orion and Walburga Black's bedroom. He creaked open the door, and slipped inside.

The room was the epitome of pure blood elitism. It was neat, organized, and elegant, yet riddled with anti-muggle paraphernalia—prejudice newspaper articles, elitist novels, Slytherin decorations. Harry immediately spotted the box; it was silver, with elaborate snake designs ringing it, and an empty keyhole. Harry pulled out his want and tapped the box, whispering "Alohamora". Sure enough, the box sprang open, its insides displayed before him.

To Harry's mild surprise, there was almost nothing in there. He could see the hairbrush clear enough, silver and clearly ancient. Beside the brush was an old ring encrusted with Salazar Slytherin's emblem, a broken wand, a peculiar little cube with no apparent purpose, a golden key, and a strange green book with no title.

Furrowing his brow, Harry withdrew the hairbrush, the cube, the key, and the book. He set the brush aside, uninterested, and began examining the cube. It was small, bronze, and stubbornly refused to do anything except be a cube. After several minutes of tinkering, Harry set it aside, mentally reminding himself to ask Hermione about it later. Then he picked up the little green book, flickering to the first page—

 _Property of Regulus Arcturus Black._

Harry remember that day long ago, passing by Regulus Blacks' old sign, the name clicking into place with that mysterious note left inside the fake Horcrux. Curiosity spiked, Harry flickered through the diary; it only contained a few entries, each written in the same elegant handwriting. Returning the first page, an odd sense of apprehension clinging to his heart, Harry began to read.

 _June 4, 1977_

 _Today I have chosen to change my life forever. I have joined the Death Eaters. I don't really know what that will mean for me, but I know it will be something grand. Bella says the world is changing and I can feel it. We will restore the pride and integrity of the wizarding world. "We are pure"- that is what Bella always says. I can feel the Dark Mark searing on my arm, and there is something heavy inside me. I think it might be fear, but that is okay. People always fear change. I will be brave, braver than Sirius ever was, and it will lead me to glory! Sirius will see that, he must see that, and we will be brother's again. All will be well, all will be perfect. I know it will._

 _I hope Mother is proud._

 _Regulus Black_


	2. Chapter 2

September 14, 1977

Tonight I killed a man. He did nothing wrong. He was innocent. His name was Arnold Cabot. He was a muggle, had a pretty wife, and had three children, one of whom was a witch. They are also dead.

Everything has gone horribly wrong. I had to write down this confession because it deosn't feel real otherwise. It still doesn't feel real. It's like I'm in some terrible nightmare, but this time I am the monster. My arm feels numb, I can't look at my wand, I think I am going to throwup, I can't breathe, my heart is disintegrating, I'm going to die.

I'M GOING TO DIE. I know I will because I am too weak. You can't be weak and bad. You can be good and weak, good and strong, bad and strong, but that's it—if you are bad and weak, you die. I wonder if it will be the Order or the Dath Eaters who will off me. I think it will be the Death Eaters.

Why didn't anybody tell me? They promised glory and purity but that's not what I see. I see death, and pain, and blood! That is not pure! That is filthy and evil! Can't anybody else see that?! Are they all simply too afraid? Is the entire army of Death Eaters just a bunch of terrified wizards frightened into doing what's asked of them? I bet the Order could win the whole war just by asking who actually wants to be a Death Eater. Maybe not. Maybe they are all evil, or cowards, or insane. There are surely no brave, good, and sane Death Eaters—they would all be Order members, like Sirius.

I guess Sirius was right. He was right about everything. I'm tempted to throw myself at his feet and beg for his forgiveness, buy they will kill me if I do. I guess that proves what a coward I am. I'll never be brave like Sirius. All I've ever been good at is doing what everyone tells me to. Ha! I'm the exact type of person I despise; and surely I am the worst kind of person, since I recognize evil but am too selfish to do anything about it. At least the others operate under the illusion that they are doing something noble—I willingly ignore my conscience. I bet Mother is so proud of me now, monster that I am. I hope she is proud; at least then I will have accomplished something in this life.

I thought maybe writing down my thoughts would make me feel better, but it hasn't. I feel like I have dementors trapped in my skull and everything is grey and dreadful and I can't get Arnold's pleas out of my head. My whole body has turned into ice and when I shatter I will be nothing, and all of this will have been for naught. I'm so cold, and I can't eat or sleep, so I think I'm just going to go ride my broomstick. Maybe I'll fall off.

Regulus Black


End file.
